A Man of Few Words
by owlcroft
Summary: The judge and Mark have a little talk in the den. Well, one of them does anyway.


A/N: Just a little piece of fluff, brought on by reading some terrific fic soon to be published. And by thinking of this coming June.

A MAN OF FEW WORDS

by

Owlcroft

Hardcastle marched determinedly into the den, placed the bottle of beer in front of a reclining McCormick, and spoke.

"My lawyer called today and we need to talk." He picked up one of Mark's textbooks from his chair and tossed it onto the couch, then plopped himself down. "This isn't the kinda stuff I do real well, so you just sit there and listen, okay?"

McCormick eyed him in speculation, took a sip of beer and nodded. "Okay," he said.

The judge settled himself edgily, sighed, then gazed out the window over the dormant television set. "You remember a coupla years ago when I thought I was gonna die and we went to that fancy restaurant and had some sorta warmed up salad for $20 each or something?"

Mark nodded, and took another sip from his bottle.

"I was telling you that the estate and everything else was gonna come to you when I kicked off, and you got all upset and started yapping at me that you didn't want it and we ended up sailing to Tahiti and getting boat-napped, right?" Hardcastle shot a glance at the man on the couch, who nodded but kept silent. "Well, before we sailed off into the sunset, I changed my will and left the whole kaboodle to you anyway – what was left after buying the boat, anyway." He swiped a thumb over the end of his nose and huffed a little in remembrance of the boat-napping.

McCormick drank more beer and waited.

Hardcastle stiffened his spine and took up the monologue again. "I figured you'd take whatever there was left and then things got hairy on us and it turned out I was okay and . . . well, I never changed my will. Andy Stamper – that's my lawyer – called today to see if there were any changes I needed to make now that there's a trust in place to cover your law school expenses and he asked me if I'd told you yet.."

Mark perked up at that, opened his mouth, but remembered his promise and closed it again.

"So, I told him there weren't any changes,and just leave everything the way it was, but then I got to thinking what if you got all persnickety again and refused the bequest and the state got it all instead and Andy ragged on me to tell you about it _now_." The judge was clearly uncomfortable, but courageously plowed ahead. "So let me tell you why I want you to have it, okay?"

With corrugated brow, McCormick nodded warily then settled himself deeper into the couch cushions.

"When I first saw this place, it was . . . overwhelming." The judge look out the window again, eyes half-closed. "It looked like some sorta resort or . . . I don't know what. The view alone over the ocean was unbelievable and the trees and the roses– " he broke off and shrugged. "And then there was the gatehouse, and this house, and the lawns and hedges and everything. I never figured I'd live in a place like this. It was kinda magical, in a way." He glared at McCormick in a combination of embarrassment and pride. "It's like I'm a caretaker for the place. Like it ought to be passed on from generation to generation, to be . . . cherished and treasured. Aw, you know what I mean, right?"

Mark nodded yet again, with a small smile of sympathy and understanding.

"So, I left my will as it is, but Andy said he couldn't let it stand unless you knew you were the primary legatee and made me promise to tell you about it." Hardcastle took a deep breath. "So, now you know, but you also need to know that I really, really want you to have the place. And the money to keep it up." He spread his hands. "Who else am I gonna leave it to? My aunts? My _brother_?" He snorted.

McCormick grinned and allowed himself a snort, too.

"Anyway, I figure you've been here long enough to know what I'm talking about. The place has gotten a grip on you, hasn't it?" He raised an interrogatory eyebrow. "It does that. It gets to you and never lets go. And it's important to me that somebody who cares about the estate gets it when I'm gone; that I don't have to worry about it at night when I can't sleep. There needs to be somebody here that will care for it and pass it on to the next generation." He stopped abruptly and fidgeted with the textbook he'd tossed aside. "I told you once you weren't a replacement for my son," he said in a quiet voice.

Mark sat very still and gazed at the man opposite him without blinking.

"You weren't then and you aren't now. You're . . ." the judge shook his head, "different. Something else. Not a replacement or a substitute. _Special_, okay?" He studiously did not meet McCormick's stare. "But the estate ought to go to you and nobody else, and I want you to agree to accept it – when the time comes," he added hastily. "It would make me feel better, and it makes a lotta sense, you have to admit that. So," Hardcastle heaved a sigh, "that's that. Now you can think about it, or call Andy if you've got any questions, or just let it percolate for a while if you want. But I need to know if you'd agree to being my heir. If you do decide to, then all you have to do is tell me 'okay'."

Mark took a sip of beer and nodded. "Okay," he said.

_finis_


End file.
